There was not much I could do at this point. The doctor stared at my belly, displeasingly as he poured the cold jelly on my lower abdomen. His face cringed, putting the strange machine to the jelly and squishing it around on my skin. He never looked into my eyes; he never said a word that was unnecessary to say. I was just another patient.

I was only another person to treat.

I was only another number.

I was nothing to him now.

I moved the machine to another part of my body, looking at the black and white picture on his computer screen. He would nod every once in a while, but he still could not look me in the face. I gave up, and stared at the ceiling. I entire body felt like dead weight on the cold, sanitized white paper. I tried counting tiles; I tried counting the shapes on the tiles.

Nothing worked.

My mind couldn't shake off the thought of him. Even without looking at him, I can see his soft, ivory colored face. He seemed innocent in every way until you looked into his deep, black eyes. They seemed to penetrate you, knowing every little flaw and disorder. Half the time, he did not need to examine his patients. His voice was quiet and pensive, yet it was calming. To his friends, he was funny. To his lover, or former lover I should say, he was loving and protective.

He was cold, heartless now. I turned my head to see him, but he did not look back at me like he used to. His jaw was clenched, to keep himself from yelling, probably. He was angry; he was hurt. I could almost feel my heart drop as I watched him ignore me. There was electricity in the air, a silent storm that would not settle. The friction in the air was unbearable, and I knew I had to say something. Something to save myself, something to save even a fraction of what our relationship used to be like: unconditional, beautiful, and pure.

"He's healthy."

His words stung through my ears, like a shrill scream in a silent library. His voice was unhappy. My stomach dropped, my throat became dry, and now I have no words to say to salvage anything that was once us. I only gave him a half-smile, averting my gaze. He still wasn't looking at me.

I didn't imagine this being such a tense moment. I imagined myself rosy-cheeked and smiling, but my face felt cold and lifeless, with a fake smile pulling the corners of my lips up. I imagined this being a joyous moments. He would be holding my hand, smiling and talking about our life together, the three of us.

"Alex…" My one word escaped from my lips, his head shot up, finally looking at me with piercing eyes.

"You will have a good life, the two of you." He said whispered. He put down the machine on the stand, and rolled his chair to face me, "I'm very happy for you."

I felt the tears swell up in the corner of my eyes. "It wasn't my fault, Alex. Whatever he told you, whatever you saw, it wasn't like-"

"Save me the sob story." He interrupted me, "I know what I saw four months ago. Don't lie to me."

I sat up, the jelly sticking to my shirt. "Why don't you believe me? I love you; I would never betray you like that."

"But you did!" His whole entire body shot up, fists clenched, "You lied to me, you went behind my back, and you fed me all these fucking lies!"

Tears fell from the corner of my eyes, washing my face of all impurity. I could see the water in his eyes as well, but he held it back. I saw the veins pop out of his forehead, the anger bottled up inside. I wanted to show him this baby was not of my consent, that I never wanted any of this.

"Alex… he forced me. He raped me. I couldn't stop it…" My voice was low. I could see the pain in the creases of his face, the stress and the bags under his overworked eyes. "I didn't want this. I didn't want any of this." I began to sob.

I felt the warmth of his hand on my shoulder as I moved forward, putting my hand between my knees. The small bump and the goo on my stomach squished together uncomfortably. I tried to open my mouth, but my sobbing grew louder. I wanted to tell him everything that happened was not my fault, that I hated every minute the other man had his hands on my body. I wanted him to know how much I loved him, how much I wished this kid was his, or that this kid never existed at all.

I sat up, tears rushing down my face. His black eyes locked into mine, searching for truth in my red, puffy eyes. His face was inches from mine and his breath washed over my face like a warm breeze. For the longest time, we didn't say a word to each other. We just looked into each others eyes. We looked into each others anguish, and despair.

I opened my mouth to speak, but his lips crashed into mine at full force. The tears began to run down my face again, and we kissed for the longest time. Time seemed to stop, lapse, whatever. There were no machines or cold examination tables. It was just us, our passion, and our kiss. He suddenly broke it, and I realized both of his hands were on my wet face.

"I believe you." He whispered and closed his eyes, resting his forehead on mine. His face was hot from anger.

"I'm sorry for everything." I whispered back.

"I'm sorry for the mother fucker who did this to you." His jaw tightened, "He won't live as long as I'm around."

"Don't hurt him…" I sighed, feeling the guilt rise up inside of me.

"He hurt you," Alex moved back, his eyes locked on mine, "and I will never be able to forgive him for that."

I shook my head, "Let's just go so far away from this town, somewhere where we can be together. We'll never have to think about that man again."

He sighed, "You will every time you see your bastards face."